Love can be hard. Hard on the heart, hard
on the mind, hard to find what real love is.
I have welcomed so many wrong loves
into this heart that I cannot tell a hand
to hold from a fist. Harmless turns
into harmful and I am left sputtering,
wringing my hands before anyone else can.
But I am learning. My heart is an innocent child,
refusing to believe love only comes black and blue
and wrapped in bandages. I am still learning. Still hoping.
I know Love is safety. It’s leaving the door to your heart
unlocked and not being afraid of it being stolen. Love makes
sure the cloak of shame is never draped over your shoulders,
tying a knot around your neck. Love is a hand held without
squeezing, no fingernails creating crescent moon scars.
Love is an embrace that does not remind you of suffocating.
Love is a breath of fresh air. Love is in the small things.
The warm candlelight glow surrounding laughter. Eyes
that are the color of honesty and care. The ability
to unapologetically exist in comfort. Love is not
the slamming of a door, but the opening of the heart.
Through all the growing pains, my resilient heart refuses
to believe Love always hurts. Real Love is pink
like the blush in your cheeks, giftwrapped
and filled with joy. I am still learning:
Love is safe. Love is kind. Love is limitless.